


Problematic

by Toastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Introspection, Safe for work version
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-14 23:55:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toastiel/pseuds/Toastiel
Summary: Chuck has a problem.





	

He has a serious problem with that color on her lips. 

Just because he’s god, it doesn’t make him innocent, or naive, or impervious to such things. He’s had his share of flings, because he could never refer to anything before her as having been a real relationship.

Doesn’t she know what that color on those lips does to him? 

She’s his sunlight, his warmth, his humanity. She’s everything he wishes he could be and everything he knows he’ll never become. She is perfection, with those deep, soulful brown eyes that always sparkle with a smile even when she’d beyond seething, and that brilliant smile, bright enough to put a star to shame. Her skin reminds him of the finest porcelain, even if he can see all the cracks beneath it from so many years of abuse; her hair reminds him of silk when he runs his fingers through it at night, watching her sleep so peacefully. 

She is pure and perfect, and so incredibly sinful that it makes his head spin.

Especially when she’s wearing that color on her lips. 

It makes him feel things he shouldn’t even be able to feel, but damnit, his vessel is human, and he doesn’t need a soul to understand what lust and passion feel like. It stirs up images of blissful nights and lazy mornings, and it drives him to the very brink of insanity. 

He knows that she knows how he feels about that color on her lips. 

She does it on purpose, to torture him, to make him crazy. She knows he’ll crack, he’ll give in to whatever she wants, so long as he can take that color off. She’s not so naive and innocent as she appears, and he knows he does her a disservice by painting her as some virgin saint, but the idea that she does it just to get under his skin is more than he can handle most days. 

She barely opens her mouth to speak, to ask him for whatever it is that she wants, before he’s there, whispering a yes against her lips and stealing her breath away before she can even utter a sound. He doesn’t pull away until he knows that that color is gone, smeared across his own lips, and she’s panting for air in his arms. 

He walks away then, afraid of where he might take things if he stays a second longer. He doesn’t even know what she wanted, and really, it doesn’t matter, because that color is gone and he can think again. He doesn’t care if he ends up with some scraggly mutt sleeping at the foot of his bed, or if he ends up having to spend date night watching crappy rom-coms in the bunker. All he cares about is seeing that color gone, and getting on with things.

The next day, the color is back and he knows it’s never going to end. At least he prays to himself that it never does.

He knows he has a problem, but so does she.


End file.
